Did I Nearly Get Ya?
by RosesOfWindsor
Summary: Moriarty's return has shaken up Sherlock and Co, and they try and figure out a way to take him down permanently. Meanwhile, a new player joins the game...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, thinking, when he heard the front door softly open and close. Quiet footsteps crept up the stairs. Sherlock mentally braced himself.

"Hello, Sherlock." Moriarty stood in the doorway, resplendent in his gray suit, his hair slicked back. He smiled at Sherlock, eyes dancing merrily.

"Do come in. Though I'm afraid you've just missed John."

"Oh that's quite alright. I don't think your little pet likes me very much," Moriarty replied, sauntering in and taking a seat opposite Sherlock. "He's got himself someone now, hasn't he? How are we feeling about that?"

"I'm happy for John. I quite like Mary."

"Oh come on, Sherlock. We both know you're just a little bit jealous."

Sherlock stared in stony silence. He wasn't giving an inch. Not this time.

"Why?"

"Hmm?"

"Why come back now?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward. "It's been over four years. Why now?"

"You and I have unfinished business, darling. You cheated," Moriarty said silkily, the ever present smirk on his face.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "So did you."

"Fair point!" Moriarty exclaimed, clapping his hands together excitedly. "So now that that's out of the way, we can go back to playing the game."

"The game is over-"

"The game is_ never _over, Sherlock. We both know that. You'll always need your fix, someone to compete with you, someone to play with you."

"So what? We play cat and mouse for all eternity?"

"We're both geniuses, but we're not immortal, dear. No need to exaggerate. Although, I guess it is rather hard to kill us…"

Sherlock was getting frustrated at him not answering directly, but was determined not to let it show. "What game would you like to play, then?"

Moriarty looked around the room. "You've made some changes. Not sure I like them."

"I dismantled your network," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "What power do you have anymore?"

"And you think I couldn't get another one?" Moriarty replied, finally answering something. He returned to staring hungrily at Sherlock. "You really thought I wouldn't have a backup plan? My backups have backups. A man doesn't get this powerful without precautions. You underestimated me Sherlock, you underestimated my cleverness. Funny how the man who wanted everything to be clever couldn't even see it right in front of him. Tsk tsk Sherlock, you're slipping. Maybe you won't be as fun as I thought."

Sherlock thought for a moment. He met Moriarty's unwavering gaze.

"What is your end game?" he muttered. "What is your goal? You wanted to destroy me; that obviously didn't work. Are you going to try again?"

If Moriarty had been smiling any wider, he would have transformed into the Cheshire Cat. "No no no, I don't want that. I've decided that's boring. I spent too much time worrying about that last time; so now I'm just going to have some fun." He stood up and walked towards the door, waving his hand as if he was conducting an imaginary orchestra. "Give John my love."

And then he was gone. Sherlock let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He quickly assessed himself, trying to figure out what he was feeling. A bit of irritation, confusion, and fear. Also something else. Excitement? He shouldn't be excited. This was a dangerous man he was dealing with, who had threatened everyone he loved and wouldn't hesitate to do it again. And yet… Sherlock shook his head. He pulled out his phone, sent a text, then sat back and closed his eyes.

It didn't take long.

"We came as soon as we could, are you ok? Jesus, I can't believe this. He just waltzed in here? What was he thinking?"

Sherlock let John rant, knowing he would be done soon. Mary entered right behind him and looked around at everything, assessing the situation. Finally she turned her gaze to Sherlock and raised her eyebrows. He nodded, and she turned her attention back to John.

"He's fine love, calm down. We need to focus on the task at hand," Mary told John, laying a hand on his arm. John exhaled sharply, nodding. That was one thing Sherlock admired about Mary. She always knew the right thing to say to calm John down. Sherlock had tried it a few times, but it just seemed to infuriate him even more. He made a mental note to ask her how she did it.

John sat in the chair opposite Sherlock while Mary took the sofa. "Tell us everything he said, and don't leave anything out. I know you remember it all."

"Well first off, he sat in your chair."

John looked like he'd rather be sucked into the seven circles of hell rather than sit there one more moment, but he stayed where he was. Sherlock quickly relayed everything from the conversation.

"So he knows about Mary," John said. "D'you think he…knows?"

"At this point, I wouldn't put anything past him. I grossly underestimated him last time; I won't be making the same mistake twice. We need to assume he knows everything."

All the color had drained from Mary's face, but she remained focused. "Right, that's not the most important thing. How in the bloody hell did he survive? And what does he want?"

Sherlock grimaced. "I don't know. He didn't give any clues…or maybe he did. I'll have to analyze this more. He wouldn't be Moriarty without leaving clues."

Mary absentmindedly rubbed her stomach while she glanced about the flat. John sat back in his chair and frowned.

"He didn't touch anything, did he?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Not a thing this time. That's what's bothering me. He's being deliberately stingy. In the past he loved giving me clues, helping me along. Why is it different this time?"

"Maybe he wants to make the game harder for you," Mary piped up.

"Have you let Scotland Yard know yet?" John asked.

"Not yet. Could you send a text?" Sherlock asked, holding out his phone.

John chuckled and took it. "Sure."

A few minutes later, Lestrade and Mycroft walked in.

"Dear God, he really showed up here again? He's completely mental," Lestrade burst out, pacing.

"Did you really expect anything less from the man? He forced my brother to jump off of a roof –"

"That was your plan, if I remember the bit Sherlock told me correctly," John interjected. Mycroft cast an annoyed look at John before turning to Sherlock.

"Dear brother, please tell me you've found some method to this madness," he said.

Sherlock was about to reply when Mrs. Hudson ran up the stairs.

"Sherlock dear, Molly's here. I let her up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Molly came through the door. "Isn't it getting a bit crowded in here? No offense, Molly."

"None taken," she replied briskly, perching on the edge of the sofa. "Have I missed much?"

"Hardly," Mary replied. "Just a bunch of testosterone having a pissing contest."

Molly giggled, but then remembered that wasn't appropriate. "So what's the plan?" she asked, fighting to regain her composure.

"I don't have one yet," Sherlock spit out. He didn't like admitting that. He started pacing, his mind reeling. The others started talking amongst themselves, discussing various theories and plans. Sherlock felt his blood pressure rising as the volume of the room reached its peak. He was about to yell at everyone when something stopped him short.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, turning to Molly. "What did you just say?"

"I said…" She looked uncertain. "I said maybe it's not about you."

Sherlock grabbed her in a bear hug, spun around, and set her back down. "Exactly! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an arrogant sod," Lestrade muttered. Sherlock ignored him.

"Molly, you're right. You're completely right. This time it isn't about destroying me, no, he wants something else. Something more important. And if we can get to it before him, we can beat him. Everyone, start searching. What could Moriarty possibly want that he can't get easily?"

The people in the room fell silent, thinking. As Sherlock gazed at them all, his mind worked overtime. Suddenly his head snapped up. John, Mary, Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly. With Mrs. Hudson downstairs, that meant…

"Everyone out now!" Sherlock shouted, running for the door. The others followed him without hesitation. They made it to the stairwell before the bomb went off.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock coughed, trying desperately to get the dust out of his lungs. His hands reached out, searching for flesh. He finally found an arm, and grabbed ahold of it.

"Ow, let go!"

Sherlock sighed in relief. "John," he breathed.

"Sherlock? You ok?"

"Fine, fine. Mary," he said suddenly, and heard John scramble around, pawing through the debris.

"Don't worry, I've got her," a faint voice called out from a few feet away. It was Molly. While John tended to Mary, Sherlock searched for Mycroft and Lestrade. He found them a few steps down the stairs, unconscious but alive. He mustered the strength to get up, stumble down the stairs and bang on the door.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he shouted. When he got no response, he banged harder, trying to break it down. He heard footsteps behind him and then John was there, kicking at the door. Between the two of them, the finally got it open. They heard feeble cries, and rushed to the kitchen.

"Oh boys, thank God. My hip!" The shock of the explosion had caused Mrs. Hudson to lose her balance, and in doing so she twisted her hip. She was lying on the floor, crying. John immediately rushed to her side, while Sherlock sagged against the wall. Why did he feel so exhausted? He was the first one out the door. It didn't make sense…

"Sherlock. Sherlock, no. Don't go to sleep, whatever you do. You're bleeding from your head." Molly's voice floated through his mind. "Sherlock!" He felt sudden pain on the side of his face. He scowled, and opened his eyes to find hers staring back.

"There we go," she said, pleased with herself. She then bustled around the flat, finding rudimentary materials. She came back and started doing something altogether painful to Sherlock's head. He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it.

"The others," he said instead.

"Mary's fine, just a little banged up," John said, coming over to check on him. "I've got Mrs. Hudson into bed, and I'm about to go check on Greg and Mycroft. Everything good, Molly?"

"Yep," she replied absently, concentrated on doing something even more painful. John walked out, and then there was silence. Molly worked for a few more minutes, then spoke.

"Well, it's been a while since I worked on a live person, but I think I did ok. You can get up, but don't push it. You could faint if you move too quickly." She helped him up.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Molly beamed like she always did when he said anything nice to her, pink creeping onto her cheeks.

"It was nothing," she muttered. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they saw John helping Mycroft up. Lestrade was already sitting with his back to the wall, uttering a stream of colorful curses.

"Someone help me up the stairs, I need to see the flat," Sherlock demanded. John came down and took over for Molly, and they started to climb. When they reached the landing, Sherlock looked at Mycroft.

"This is just the beginning," he told his elder brother.

Mycroft looked down sorrowfully. "I know."

Mary was sitting at the top of the stairs, looking exhausted but alert. One arm was thrown over her stomach protectively. She managed a small smile at Sherlock.

When he walked through the door, it looked like a mini war zone. Plywood and plaster was strewn everywhere, and there was a giant hole in the ceiling. Sherlock stumbled forward, but John caught him, setting him upright again. He forced his hazy mind to start working again, and took in his surroundings.

"Interesting," he said. He could feel John rolling his eyes.

"The flat was bombed, and you call that interesting? I really will never understand you."

"Think, John. He put the bomb in the ceiling, where it wouldn't do enough damage to kill us, or even alter the flat much. It was his way of saying, 'Welcome back to the game.' I trust you remember how he started the game the first time."

John frowned, thinking. Then he looked up at Sherlock. "The so called gas explosions…of course. Do you think he'll try that again?"

"I doubt it, he's not one to repeat himself. This was simply a nod to the past. Now…I need to sit down."

John helped him to a relatively debris-free spot on the sofa.

"I'm going to get all the others in here, ok?"

Sherlock nodded. John left the room for a few minutes, slowly shuffling everyone in and shoving aside debris. Once everyone was situated, Sherlock looked up and addressed them all.

"Moriarty knew that after he left here, I would assemble the people I trusted to try and form a plan against him. He wasn't trying to kill us, but he did send a message. Last time, he thought there were only three people I truly cared about. He was wrong." Sherlock glanced at Molly, who smiled a small smile at him. "However, he will not be making that mistake again. Now he knows that there are, in fact, six – no, seven, people that I care about," he finished, gesturing to Mary's stomach. She grinned at him. "Molly may be right. This may not be about me. But Moriarty has not forgotten about me, and he never will. He wants to drag the game out for as long as possible. Our job is to end it as quickly as we can. Is everyone in agreement?"

Everyone slowly started nodding. Then Lestrade spoke up.

"Sorry, what exactly are we agreeing to?"

This time it was John spoke up, with the murderous gaze in his eyes that Sherlock had seen many times before.

"We're going to kill that bastard."

John insisted on staying the night to make sure Sherlock was ok, so Mary did too. Sherlock walked out of his bedroom to fetch his laptop, but paused for a moment. He saw the silhouette of John's head, with the fire illuminating him. Bits and pieces of memories flashed in his mind, of when it was just the two of them. He grimaced, annoyed with himself for allowing those thoughts to creep in. He picked up his computer, but instead of going back to his room, he brushed away debris and sat down in his chair.

"Mary in bed?" he asked John, who was staring absentmindedly at the fire.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, doctor's orders. With the baby coming soon, I don't want to take any chances."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, with Sherlock tapping away at his keyboard.

"Feels a bit like old times, doesn't it?" John said suddenly. Sherlock looked up to find John staring at him.

"Mmm, I suppose. But it never will be."

John smirked. He knew what Sherlock was doing.

"Look, Sherlock, you know we're still doing cases. When the baby's born, Mary's going to take time off from the office. You're still my best friend, and that will never change. You don't have to distance yourself."

Sherlock was silent for a few moments, trying to get rid of the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Yes, I know," he managed to choke out.

John nodded, then turned back to the fire. They sat like that for another hour, enjoying the comfort of each other's company.

The next morning, Sherlock walked into the kitchen to find John and Mary having breakfast.

"Morning Sherlock," Mary beamed up at him. As he sat down, Mrs. Hudson bustled in with another tray.

"Oh, I just love seeing you two sitting there like that. Oh and you too, Mary dear," she added hastily. Mary chuckled and resumed eating.

"Don't be climbing the stairs too much with that hip, Mrs. Hudson," John interjected.

"I'm fine dearie, a bit of rest and I'm good as new! Although I can't say the same for the ceiling," she said, worriedly peering into the sitting room.

"Then get someone to fix it," Sherlock muttered, reaching for the marmalade.

"I heard that, Sherlock Holmes," Mrs. Hudson shouted as she went down the stairs.

"So, where do we start with this whole Moriarty thing?" Mary asked. John put down his paper and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock took his time swallowing his food. "Yesterday he was simply flexing his muscles, showing off. Showing us that he still has power. We have to find out what he really wants. Then, and only then, can we beat him. Because right now, whatever he wants is his weakness. And if we can get to it before him, we can exploit that weakness."

"Right. Any idea what that might be?"

"No, don't have enough information."

John and Mary looked at each other.

"Ok, well I'll take Mary home, then come back and help you."

Mary frowned. "I can stay, I can help –"

"No you can't," Sherlock and John said at the same time. Mary's quizzical gaze turned to Sherlock.

"With what happened yesterday and you being so close to term, you don't know what effects it had on the baby. I would recommend scheduling an appointment just to be safe."

Mary's frown lingered for a moment, then her eyes softened. She laid her hand briefly on Sherlock's arm, then stood up.

"Well, I'm sure there's some crap telly I need to catch up on. Let's go, John."

John's confused gaze followed his wife out of the kitchen. He muttered to Sherlock that he wouldn't be long, then hurried after Mary.

In the car, John spoke up.

"Why were you suddenly ok with going home? You're more stubborn than that."

The corners of Mary's mouth crept up.

"Well for one, Sherlock is probably right. I should get checked, just in case. Normal pregnant women don't have a bomb explode near them. And second, I am sharing custody of you. He wants you all to himself for a bit, and who am I to be selfish?" The smirk turned into a full grin as she looked at him. He chuckled as he realized she was right. He wondered how he'd gotten so lucky to find a woman who understood.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was still in his dressing gown, lying on the couch when John got back. He sat down at the desk and booted up his laptop that he had grabbed from his house.

"Wow, have you seen the headlines? Four murders in the last four weeks. Seem to be related, too. Lestrade hasn't come to you about it?"

"Ugh, I wouldn't bother. Gang related."

"Yes, because you're too above that," John muttered. Then he realized he was staring at his computer screen, with no idea what he was looking for.

"Umm, Sherlock."

"Mmm?"

"Where do we start? What could the man with everything want?"

Sherlock frowned. "I dunno…I thought you might have an idea."

John rolled his eyes. "Well, what if –"

At that moment, there was a figure at the door. John looked up.

"Umm, sorry, the door was open," a soft female voice said. "Are you busy? I could maybe come back later…" she trailed off, seeing the hole in the ceiling.

"No no, come in," John said, ushering her in and shooing Sherlock off the couch so she could sit down. She had long black hair and round hazel eyes. She almost looked like a doll, just picked off the shelf. _A broken doll, _John thought, taking a closer look at her. She sat crumpled, as if her spine lost the will to work. The look on her face was melancholy. Definitely a client.

"Mr. Holmes?" she asked, looking at Sherlock, who had migrated to his armchair.

"Yes yes, that's me. What do you want?"

John turned and looked pointedly at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but tried to arrange a halfway pleasant look on his face. In any case, the woman didn't seem to notice.

"I…I just want you to please listen to me for a minute. It might sound weird, but please bear with me."

John sat down beside her and nodded. Sherlock finally turned his gaze towards her. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but decided to listen.

"My name is Kira Adams, in case you were wondering. And for the past several months, I've been stalked. Before you dismiss it as paranoia, listen. I'm a uni student, and every day when I walk home, he's there."

"He?" John asked. She nodded.

"I can tell by his height and build that it's a man. But he wears a hoodie, and always keeps his hands in his pockets, so I can't even tell the color of his skin. All I've seen are reflections in the shop windows. I tried turning around a few times, once to confront him, but he disappeared."

"Brave, being ready to confront him."

"I'm tired of being scared, Dr. Watson," Kira replied, looking at him. "I'm tired of always looking over my shoulder."

"Is it just when you walk home from school?" Sherlock finally said. "Or does he follow you other times?"

Kira nodded. "I don't go out much, but when I do, he's there. When I go shopping, or go to meet friends. But it's only when I'm alone. I asked a friend to walk me home once, and he wasn't there."

"Do you have any enemies?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I don't have any siblings. I pretty much to keep myself, and I only have a few friends."  
"Well that's obvious."

"Sherlock," came the warning tone. Sherlock rolled his eyes again.  
"And you haven't gone to Scotland Yard about this?" John asked Kira.

"I did," she replied with contempt in her voice. "They completely dismissed it. That's why I came to you."

"Right then, there's only one thing to do," Sherlock said. The other two looked at him expectantly. "Tomorrow, you're going to walk home from school."

"Wait…you're going to use me as bait?" Kira asked incredulously.

"Exactly," Sherlock said. John could've swore he saw a smirk flash across Sherlock's face.

"But –"

"I think what Sherlock's inadequately trying to say, is it seems like the only way to get this guy to come out of hiding is for you to be alone. You won't be alone, though. While he's stalking you, we'll stalk him. Then we'll catch him. You'll be safe. Isn't that right, Sherlock?"

"Actually yes. That was exactly what was I was trying to say, how did you-"

"Nearly six years of failed communication. I've learned how to translate." John stood up, helping Kira up as well. "Tomorrow, act like everything's normal. We'll be right behind you, but we can't contact you because that will alert him. We'll be watching, and as soon as we see anything out of the ordinary, we'll act. Alright?"

Kira nodded, but still looked worried. John gave her a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder before walking her out.

"Poor girl. I hope we can figure out why this is happening," John said when he came back in. He looked at Sherlock. "You were strangely silent."

"I was thinking. And I still am."

"Right, well, just remember there's a girl being stalked right now. The least we could do is help her out. Did you see how frightened she was?"

"That briefly registered, yes."

John sighed and went back to his laptop. He pulled up his blog on a whim. He wanted to write another entry, but still hadn't figured out what to say. It had been a month since Moriarty had plastered his face everywhere, and the media was still buzzing. There were some comments asking him what he thought about it. The truth was, he was a mixed bag of emotions. Try as he might, memories still kept flashing in his head. Stepping in front of Sherlock with the bomb strapped to him, seeing Sherlock's face as he thought his friend was a maniac, all while having to repeat the words that were being fed to him by that sadistic bastard. Watching him walk free from the trial…trying to trick him into believing Sherlock had made Moriarty up…and watching his best friend jump from a rooftop. All because of _him. _John had thought they were rid of him, that they would never have to deal with him and deranged self again. And yet every time he had looked at Sherlock since those screens were taken over, he saw a different look in his eyes. It was a look he hadn't even given the Woman, and she had captured his attention like no other. No, this look was different. Sherlock wasn't intrigued; he already knew too much about Moriarty for that. He was excited. He was adrenalized. There wasn't exactly respect in his eyes, nor admiration, but maybe something in between. He felt sick every time he saw it, because he knew Sherlock would get lured in again. And John would follow him, like always.

"You're thinking. Why are you thinking?"

John rolled his eyes. "I dunno, maybe cause that's what people do sometimes?"

"I was under the impression that they don't."

"Of course you were," John breathed. He looked at the time on his computer. "God, it's late. Look, I'm going home. We'll meet up tomorrow for that thing with Kira."

"Mmm, fine."

John shook his head, smiled a bit, and walked out the door.


End file.
